Take Care of the Skull
by xxNellxx
Summary: ONESHOT Set years later- Expecting to be the only one, John is surprised when two old faces from the past return to say their goodbyes. Later recieving a letter from his late friend... "Take care of the skull..."


**Okay, I must warn you- this may end up making you sad - it depends how much you love Mr Holmes I suppose. Sorry if you really hated it- I can't imagine it's too everyone's taste but here we go.**

**Nell**

**x**

John Watson wasn't sure who he expected to see that day, he did wonder if he was to be the only one who turned up at all. Leaving Baker Street all them years ago had never really been the end, both he and Sherlock had known that…though today, was the end. Since the day he met who was to become his best friend he'd never imagined that such a thing could possibly end. However now, the reality of it was killing him. It was only the day before that he'd been round, collected a few items that had belonged to Sherlock, and taken them back with him. Among the possessions was one that (to him) had represented Sherlock, and that was his infamous skull that had loomed over the fireplace all those years. It had taken him great effort to take the skull into his hands and remove it from what had been its rightful place, but it couldn't have stayed there any longer. Another of Sherlock's possessions that John had decided to take home with him was the blue scarf. John had actually been regretful that he hadn't chosen the scarf to go with Sherlock, at the time John hadn't really known what to do. He'd been so distraught at losing his friend that all he'd wanted was a little something to make him feel normal and so the scarf had been something he'd kept. However now, he felt it should be with its true owner.

Sorting through the belongings of Sherlock had in some way been a comfort, but it hadn't all been "stress-free," there had been so much mess to sort through like the numerous amount of (what was most likely) toxic test tubes and other various scientific instruments which had become a pain in disposing of. Whilst sorting through some old (what had been recently locked) draws, he'd found some early case files that Sherlock had written up on his laptop. He found one on that diamond case, Sherlock had clearly informed him at the time that he wasn't interested and had sent them a message. Though according to his case file…he really had sent them a message (well that explained the scratch mark on the kitchen table!) John had smiled at the little bits and bobs that he'd found knocking about the place and most of it he couldn't bare to have thrown out. He'd ended up taking three whole boxes back to his house full of Sherlock's bizarre belongings.

…

John took a last look in the mirror and tied the blue scarf around his neck. He glanced at himself quickly and suddenly found himself staring. He'd gotten so old, how could he have gotten so old? He sighed and shook his head before picking up the blue flowers he'd bought and left the house.

The taxi drove away and John leant against his crutch as slowly made his way towards the church. The cemetery was silent and the small pink blossom petals fluttered to the ground as he entered through the iron gate.

The Priest greeted him as he took his seat inside the church, as he'd expected…he was only one there. He laid down his crutch and closed his eyes for a few seconds. Everything right at that moment seemed un-real and completely impossible. Sherlock Holmes could not be dead! He heard himself scream inside his mind, everything had gone. He'd been alone for so long now, nobody around, nobody to talk to. His wife had long died; his eldest following his footsteps was away at war and his youngest now living in America due to work. Why had Sherlock had to leave him to?

"Is there anyone else you know of set to arrive?" The priest asked bending over John. He could see the distress in his face and through his manner; he did his best to comfort him. John took a long sigh and shook his head.

"I don't think so, no."

"I'll begin the service then."

…

As the priest spoke his words and John thought of Sherlock he let slip a small tear and a sigh. The priest proceeded through the Bible and John just couldn't be bothered to listen anymore. He thought of Sherlock and all the times they'd had together. He couldn't begin to think of his life if he hadn't had met him. He'd found him asleep beside the Union Jack pillow and the violin at his feet. The image would haunt him for the rest of life. He remembered the panic and the grief.

"SHERLOCK, SHERLOCK, SHERLOCK!" He remembered his words as he shook his friend waiting for him to open his eyes. He never did open those eyes…those icy eyes. The sound of the door creaking as it was opened made him aware again of what was happening and of his surroundings. He watched as the priest glanced up from the Bible and then returned his eyes back to it. Slowly John turned his head to face behind and he saw an old woman tiptoe towards one of the pews. She clutched a little pink bag and wore a long black cardigan. The little old lady instantly recognised John and she smiled and then focused on the Priest. John felt like he should know her but he couldn't work out who she was. She looked familiar but he just couldn't pin point who she was. For a moment, he gave up but he couldn't resist another glance at her, she noticed his gaze and smiled again giving him a small wave.

…

John picked up his crutch and stood up from out of the pew. He thanked the Priest and so did the old lady. He smiled at her and said hello as they walked out the Church together. "Hello Dr Watson." She said back. It startled him that she knew who he was because he really didn't know her at all.

"Nobody's called me that in while." He whispered as she held open the door for him.

"You've forgotten me haven't you John." She said as she placed her arm through his and helped him down the stone steps.

"I feel like I should know you but I…" He stammered and just shook his head. The lady nodded and they made their way towards Sherlock's grave.

"Don't worry it's been years. It's me, Molly Hooper who worked at St Bart's." She giggled at the expression on his face and John was just lost for words.

"I don't believe it…Miss Hooper it's really you!" He cried and pulled her in for a friendly hug. It really was her, the years had left their mark on her pretty face but it really was Molly. "I can't believe it…"

"John you're looking well." She said.

"I got old Molly, I feel old and I am old." He shrugged and as he looked down, they stood before Sherlock's grave. "I'm surprised you even came. He was awfully rotten towards you." He chuckled, and she chuckled to.

"I thought he'd broken my heart. I was a foolish young thing and I didn't know what love was then, ha, he was only a silly crush. I notice you're wearing his scarf." She changed the subject and John sighed.

"I am…actually though I'm here to give it back. It belongs to him really."

"Wouldn't he want you to keep it?" Molly suggested lifting up her frail arm as she delicately stroked it with her fingers. On the thought she'd just given him he shrugged again and said.

"I don't know really. When I took it I felt like I was stealing it from him and to be honest it was always a part of him." John admitted looking down on her. Molly nodded but gave him something else to think about.

"If you don't have something that was a part of him, you'll let him die completely. I think if you keep it, he'll always be with you know matter where you go because you've got the scarf. I have to go now; I thought I would just say my goodbyes." She whispered and kissed John's cheek before turning around and making her way through the cemetery.

"Molly!" John called after her. "Get in touch, please." Molly spun round and hovered for a while before nodding.

"Open up your blog again." She smiled and left the cemetery.

…

Once he was alone, John bent down and sat in front of Sherlock's grave. Gently he placed down the flowers and sighed. "Well here we are again, so what have you to tell me? What happened on your last case eh? I hope it was a good one for you, a nice murder eh!" John chuckled and wiped away a small tear. "What'll I do without you eh? It just won't be the same, you know that don't you. I'm really going to miss you. Everything we've been through has just been, well amazing I suppose. Thank you for everything."

"John Watson, well, well, well. I didn't think I'd be seeing you again until a certain somebody gave me this." A voice that John could never forget called out to him.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade, I never thought I'd be seeing you again." John smiled getting up on his crutch before he clasped Lestrade's hand. "I haven't seen you in years!" John beamed. Lestrade cocked his head and laughed.

"Here I have a letter for you." He reached into his coat pocket and handed John the envelope. "It's from him, he called me before he died and told me to give you this. Of course I hadn't seen him or you in years, so today was my only hope of finding you."

"You mean he knew he was dying?"

"He was Sherlock Holmes; of course he knew he was dying."

"You're right." John sighed, and slid the letter into his coat pocket. "Thank you for this." He said. Lestrade nodded.

"Listen I'm not hanging around, so goodbye John." He shook John's hand and then he was gone.

…

**John,**

**As you've already probably guessed, I knew I was dying. I know you're not happy with me for not saying earlier. Thank you for being best man I have ever known, nobody could ask for a better friend. I gathered this would be the best time to tell you how much I really appreciated you. Thank you John. The scarf is yours now, and take care of the skull. Sorry I never said a real goodbye. And I'm also sorry that you were the one to find me…come on John it was obvious it was going to be you that found me. Who else do I have in the world?**

**Your Friend,**

**Sherlock**


End file.
